The Beauty in Mortality
by PurpleHedgehogSkies
Summary: The Shadowhunter and the Downworlder, a monumental and star-crossed love, brought down by death for the noblest of causes: saving the world from going to hell. - Based on the latest unidentified snippet from City of Heavenly Fire and how I imagine it happening. Rated T for character death and violence, I guess.


**Note: This is a short little fic I wrote, inspired by the latest unidentified snippet that Cassie posted. This is how I envisioned it...All characters belong to Cassandra Clare and I just made up a scenario that the snippet fit into.. **

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Alec's fingers had curled in Magnus's shirt many times before. It had been to pull him closer, or to pull it off, though of course it'd never really been a question of admiring the fabric. It often ruined the fabric, but Magnus didn't mind. The Shadowhunter boy had clung to Magnus for different reasons too—many nights when he woke up sobbing for the brother that died too young, or when he was just holding on for the sake of _holding on_.

But now it was pain that made him hold on so tightly, his Alexander, trembling and covered in his own blood. His eyelids drooped and his hair was matted with sweat, but Magnus slid his fingers through it anyway—getting your hair played with was supposed to have some sort of comforting affect, but he wasn't sure if it counted now.

"Alexander," whispered Magnus, his voice breaking. "We were supposed to have years, Alexander, you can't leave me now."

Alec coughed, tightening his grip and struggling to open his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched, and Magnus realized that he wasn't really coughing at all, but laughing. It was a short, gravelly laugh that was meant to be sarcastic, despite the stab wound in his side and the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes—they were still so brightly blue, despite being clouded over with pain. Magnus was taken by surprise, wondering briefly if Alec was laughing at him, at the presumption that there could still be something between them if he didn't die tonight.

"Well, it's a bit ironic, isn't it?" croaked Alec, watching Magnus's face—his tears left dark streaks down his cheeks, a downside of wearing eyeliner into battle. Magnus folded his hand over Alec's, the one that was fisted in his shirt, and squeezed.

"What do you mean?"

"All that effort to convince you I wasn't in love with you, and here I am, dying in your arms," Alec said with a pained smirk. He chuckled weakly and Magnus pulled him closer, close enough that he could bury his face in Alexander's shoulder. Alec acknowledging that he was dying did unimaginable things to his resolve, and he was beginning to sob. What a curse it was to be immortal—Magnus had known this before, but this reminder was as painful as any other, maybe even more so.

Magnus had fallen in love many times, with different people in different eras, and each had given him something special. Each time he'd grieved the loss and moved on with his life, sure he'd find love again and it'd be just as satisfying and just as worth it, hopefully. But this time he didn't feel that way—you could say Alexander had ruined him for all others, because Magnus did not believe he'd find another love like this one. The Shadowhunter and the Downworlder, a monumental and star-crossed love, brought down by death for the noblest of causes: saving the world from going to hell.

The world was blurred by tears as battle-cries echoed around them, but Magnus and Alec huddled silently together in the midst of it. Alec was still gasping in his pain and each breath was more laborious than the last, and Magnus felt like he could hardly breathe himself. They were entangled.

Isabelle came running into view and cried out, hurrying towards them. Alec lifted his head at the sound of her voice; responded to her touch when she knelt by him. Magnus relinquished his hold momentarily so Isabelle could assess the damage, and she made a choking sound as she realized how far the venom had spread along his skin. The blood was clotting now, but the flesh of his abdomen was discolored and dry, like the mummy Magnus had discovered on one of his many adventures, before he was "The High Warlock of Brooklyn." So little the title meant to him now.

"Magnus," cried Isabelle, looking up at him. "You have to heal him. _Why haven't you healed him?_"

Magnus shook his head. He couldn't—he was spent, all of his energy drained by fighting off the darkened Nephilim that had inflicted the worsening wound. He could do nothing to help Alec now. He bowed his head and shook with his sobs, and Isabelle got up to crack her whip in the direction of an advancing enemy. Even as tears streamed down her face, she was vigilant and ruthless.

"I love you," Alec whispered, holding on with all the strength he had left. Holding on to Magnus and holding onto life.

"I love you," Magnus replied. "I love you, Alec."

"You…you never call me…Alec."

"I will today," said Magnus. Alec smiled. How could he smile when life was so fleeting? How could he not? There was beauty in dying for a cause, in dying in the arms of a loved one, of dying in general—human life had never been permanent, and the tradition of dying was tragic…but there was strange beauty in mortality, Magnus thought.

And there, with a battle raging around them and Isabelle steadfastly watching over them, Alexander Lightwood took his final breaths. Magnus clutched his limp body and let out sobs that shook his body, rattling his bones. He could hear Isabelle's anger in the way she shouted, in the crack of her whip, and far away he thought he heard Jace's screams of agony.

Alec had always had difficulty realizing that he was loved, so loved, and now he wasn't here to see the proof.

Magnus wiped away his tears and kissed Alec's forehead before easing his body gently onto the ground. He knew Isabelle would protect her brother, even though he was beyond saving now. With the tiny bit of energy he'd built up in the time he sat there cradling Alexander's body, he used magic to cut away a lock of dark hair to keep with him. After his Shadowhunter was laid to rest, Magnus wouldn't be able to visit his grave—there had to be something tangible to keep, and pictures wouldn't be enough.

He left Isabelle with Alec and strode into the fray, his grief and anger and thirst for vengeance re-fueling him. Alexander was dead, but the war was still on, and Magnus would to all he could to make sure it was won.


End file.
